husband, than with me,” she said in a rush, then disappeared down the hall.
Magnus sat stunned, his gaze transfixed on where she'd stood beaming with joy. She'd cradled his face and kissed his scarred cheek without so much as a flinch of repugnance.
"My word, what a transformation,” Crittenden said.
He tore his gaze from where she'd disappeared. “What?"
"Your wife, she's quite lovely when she smiles. Especially when she smiles at you,” he said with a broad grin.
He frowned at his friend then looked to his plate, although had no appetite whatsoever. “You're daft."
"And you're blind."
His fork stilled in midair. Was he? Did she smile differently at him than she did others?
"Rather amazing, really.” Crittenden lifted his drink to his lips. “You were saddled with a woman who, well let us say, is not what I expected."
Magnus blinked at his friend. “Nor I."
Later that afternoon Magnus found Agatha bustling about in the orangery rearranging various pots and plants to make way for her work area. He'd told Barstoke to assign a few lads the chore, but had the feeling his wife would be the one to manage the move. He wasn't sure his company was wanted, but felt compelled to seek her out.
A plant toppled over, spilling soil across the floor. “Blast it to perdition,” she cursed.
He chuckled at her outburst. “Is there a problem?"
"Oh! You startled me,” she said, pressing a hand to her breast.
"I apologize. I had not meant to."
"No, that's quite all right."
"You should have one of the servants move these things."
She turned back to the small plant. “I'm perfectly capable of moving a few plants."
Reaching for the spilled pot, their fingers brushed.
She jumped back as if stung. “Where is Lord Crittenden? I expected the two of you to be solving all the world's problems over a glass of port."
He forced a chuckle, lost as to how to handle her unease in his presence. Was it due to the way he'd kissed her, or merely his scars that caused her to pull away in such a manner? “He's taking a stroll about the gardens. He'll be off to his own estate in a few days."
"Is it far?"
"Not very. Rather lucky the two of us met up in school."
He lifted the plant and placed it aside where she'd moved several others. He'd hoped with her kiss earlier that she'd overcome any misgivings about his appearance, but it looked to be as if things had not changed after all. However unfortunate, he had an answer to her trembling.
Her kiss at luncheon had been one of thanks, nothing more. She was likely afraid he'd grab her like a barbarian again. And he wanted to, desperately, but if she were to turn away...no he refused to dwell on such things. He would keep a respectable distance, as he had in the past, regardless of the things she'd said in the study.
He moved a few other plants, widening the space where her new worktable would go, unable to take his leave of her.
"I suspect Barstoke shall locate a suitable table before the day is over,” he said, attempting to make casual conversation.
"I'm sure he will. Although the potting table height was ideal, it was a bit ragged.” She moved beside him, her hands filled with more plants. “The cupboard he located, however, is perfect for storage."
He took the plants and placed them alongside the others, making sure not to touch her.
Straightening, he brushed off his hands. “Are you going to continue working on the wheat and corn you've planted behind the shed, or do you intend to cultivate new specimens here?"
"I'd considered indoor cultivations before in London, but any results won't be very useful for crop production.” She bent to retrieve a few items from one of the crates containing some of her supplies. “So I dismissed the idea."
He crouched down beside her and lifted a pair of containers filled with a powdery substance. “Not necessarily. Although you will have provided an ideal climate, you could calculate the effects of your fertilizer more quickly."
She
Magnus sat stunned, his gaze transfixed on where she'd stood beaming with joy. She'd cradled his face and kissed his scarred cheek without so much as a flinch of repugnance.
"My word, what a transformation,” Crittenden said.
He tore his gaze from where she'd disappeared. “What?"
"Your wife, she's quite lovely when she smiles. Especially when she smiles at you,” he said with a broad grin.
He frowned at his friend then looked to his plate, although had no appetite whatsoever. “You're daft."
"And you're blind."
His fork stilled in midair. Was he? Did she smile differently at him than she did others?
"Rather amazing, really.” Crittenden lifted his drink to his lips. “You were saddled with a woman who, well let us say, is not what I expected."
Magnus blinked at his friend. “Nor I."
Later that afternoon Magnus found Agatha bustling about in the orangery rearranging various pots and plants to make way for her work area. He'd told Barstoke to assign a few lads the chore, but had the feeling his wife would be the one to manage the move. He wasn't sure his company was wanted, but felt compelled to seek her out.
A plant toppled over, spilling soil across the floor. “Blast it to perdition,” she cursed.
He chuckled at her outburst. “Is there a problem?"
"Oh! You startled me,” she said, pressing a hand to her breast.
"I apologize. I had not meant to."
"No, that's quite all right."
"You should have one of the servants move these things."
She turned back to the small plant. “I'm perfectly capable of moving a few plants."
Reaching for the spilled pot, their fingers brushed.
She jumped back as if stung. “Where is Lord Crittenden? I expected the two of you to be solving all the world's problems over a glass of port."
He forced a chuckle, lost as to how to handle her unease in his presence. Was it due to the way he'd kissed her, or merely his scars that caused her to pull away in such a manner? “He's taking a stroll about the gardens. He'll be off to his own estate in a few days."
"Is it far?"
"Not very. Rather lucky the two of us met up in school."
He lifted the plant and placed it aside where she'd moved several others. He'd hoped with her kiss earlier that she'd overcome any misgivings about his appearance, but it looked to be as if things had not changed after all. However unfortunate, he had an answer to her trembling.
Her kiss at luncheon had been one of thanks, nothing more. She was likely afraid he'd grab her like a barbarian again. And he wanted to, desperately, but if she were to turn away...no he refused to dwell on such things. He would keep a respectable distance, as he had in the past, regardless of the things she'd said in the study.
He moved a few other plants, widening the space where her new worktable would go, unable to take his leave of her.
"I suspect Barstoke shall locate a suitable table before the day is over,” he said, attempting to make casual conversation.
"I'm sure he will. Although the potting table height was ideal, it was a bit ragged.” She moved beside him, her hands filled with more plants. “The cupboard he located, however, is perfect for storage."
He took the plants and placed them alongside the others, making sure not to touch her.
Straightening, he brushed off his hands. “Are you going to continue working on the wheat and corn you've planted behind the shed, or do you intend to cultivate new specimens here?"
"I'd considered indoor cultivations before in London, but any results won't be very useful for crop production.” She bent to retrieve a few items from one of the crates containing some of her supplies. “So I dismissed the idea."
He crouched down beside her and lifted a pair of containers filled with a powdery substance. “Not necessarily. Although you will have provided an ideal climate, you could calculate the effects of your fertilizer more quickly."
She
Similar Books
